Here is the intro to a movie i recently watched. each line represents an individual screen shot:
"United Artists...
"UK Film Council presents"
"BBC Films"
"A Revolution Film Production"
"United Artists Presents..."
"In association with the UK Film Council"
"A Revoluion Film Production"
"A Michael Winterbottom Film"
Frankly, i don't think that 99% of the country give's a rat's ass about who did what on getting a movie to a theater. We just want the film to roll and the movie to start. Do you eally think that somebody might say "hell no I'm not going to see 'Suicide Panda', those bastards are in association with the UK Film Councel!".
Well, i guess film-hipsters probably do. They are the ones that sit around at dinner parties saying things like "Oh, Sam Pakinpoo, my goodness what a great Casting Consultant. His best work was in that small film, I believe shot in 16mm, back in 1947 in Turkey." and other horseshit like that. These folks do their best to only yap about obscure foreign films.
I've decided that I don't lke The Godfather because for some reason they keep calling Vito Corelena "Don Corelona". In one scene one of the actos slipped and called him "The" Don. Nobody calls me "The William".
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A slightly wispy softy short that i wrote during a hurricane
I’m sitting at my mother’s house, down near New Orleans, taking care of her during Gustav, and I can say it is an experience. Although the storm was only a category 2, which is not really a very powerful hurricane, it did substantial damage to the power grid, causing a majority of people to be without power for the entire time I was here. I am one of the lucky ones to have had a small generator that I brought with me- most folks did not have this luxury. It is quite strange to walk out in the street at night in total darkness and hear only the sound of generators here and there. Gas was of course in short supply with lines at the stations stretching literally a half a mile. What I find interesting is that by the time you get to the pump, you’ve burned a tank of gas. I’m not sure why people need so much gas, but they sure are willing to suffer for it-I guess because they know no other way. Some stores opened on generator power, letting in people in a controlled fashion. There were trucks handing out ice and some other supplies, and people were grateful for this or anything else. When “China Mart” opens, it is going to be a feeding frenzy like piranhas. Most people don’t know what to do if they can’t buy unnecessary plastic objects every few days.
I ran across lots of people here and there, and what I noticed most was the good mood and friendliness- laughing; total strangers discussing where to get things; what they had, and so forth.
When I arrived here, I started connecting a grid of extension cords all over the house for various things that could be powered by my small generator. Like the old show Green Acres, I found that you had to do certain combinations to keep from killing the generator. I became quite skilled at this activity. Microwave is a huge draw, next is the fridge, then the window unit AC (surprisingly), and so on down the line. My mom asked me every few hours if the cable TV was back on, and did I think the paper would run today. I realized that the elderly depend heavily on daily ritual and predictability. Her memory became terrible, which I found out later is not surprising during major changes in their lives.
The humidity was oppressive- any activity outside resulted in soaked clothes. A shower did little to help since once you dried off you immediately begin to sweat again. Without a washing machine, I ran out of clothes rather quickly and learned about not having a fresh set of clothes each morning as we have all become so dependent on. I would pick the “cleanest pair” of clothes each morning.
But here is the most eye opening thing: I was exhausted due to constant chores- re-routing power to this and that; keeping the generator full; figuring out what we could eat; making sure my mom had a fan and so on. Then it occurred to me what the problem was: I was trying to maintain a “normal” way of life. A life in which people have lived in charmed decades where cheap, abundant electricity and gas is assumed. Every hour or two, my mom would say, “If the power would just! come! back! on!” with an exhausted voice. She, like others, is totally dependent on television, kitchen appliances, lights, air conditioning, and so on.
The biggest problem was boredom. We’ve become completely reliant on computers, TV, radio, video games, texting, blackberries, microwaves, electric stoves, and so on. I’m told Japanese teenage girls typically have two cell phones, which they use at the same time. Take all this away and we have nothing to do. You can only work so many jigsaw puzzles
.
I asked my mother, now 82 years old, what they did in her early years with no electricity. "Were you bored?"“Heck no!” she answered. Her father worked until sundown, put up the mules and horses, cleaned up, ate a big meal, read a little, and went to bed. Her mother was busy full time preparing foods, tending to the garden, canning vegetables and peaches, and doing all the laundry by hand. She too had little time for boredom. My mother went to school, then did many chores until dark, did homework by the light of a kerosene lamp and went to bed. She told me all these things with a smile, I could tell it was a good time for her, I guess when you went to bed your body let you know your accomplishments of the day. There was no obesity because of the amount of work and healthy meals. Her father ate huge, and I mean huge meals, and was thin and well toned. I realize this is all well known (and boring to most), but I guess it was special for me to hear it firsthand.
Consider the stark comparison to our life today- the suburbanites I know live in 4,000 sq foot houses with 6 bedrooms, the kids live in their rooms and play video games. The house is so big I suspect it is difficult to have a family unit. They are often overweight and have regular health issues, thanks to Papa John’s Pizza, and hot pockets. The parents work and commute long distances, work long hours, and have little time in the evening for relaxing.
I recently read a book about a graduate student that decided to live at a Mennonite community for a year, I believe as a school project. The one part of the book that stuck with me was regarding work vs. free time. The student worked in the fields each day with the other men, who worked slowly and stopped to weave stories and jokes rather often. They usually worked until sundown. The grad student would do calculations and such and night, and one day gathered the men together for a discussion. He laid out a plan that would easily allow them to finish work by noon. “Well, what are we going to do the rest of the day?” they replied. The student was stunned. It quickly became clear that the men do not differentiate between work and pleasure- they make their work their pleasure and thus see “getting off work” as an end to their social day. The men do not work their fields separately- they all work at Jon’s place and then go work at Fred’s, and so on. A great deal of people now see work as something they are forced to do so get off as soon as possible so they can go home and… watch American Idol and eat hot pockets.
I grew up in a family of six in a 1,000 square foot house. We got to know each other pretty well and learned patience and relationship skills.
I find it interesting that it takes a hurricane and a week or so with no power to generate all these thoughts.
I can only imagine the hardship endured by those affected by Katrina. My mother and I are in living in luxury right now in comparison.
“If the power would just come back on…”
I ran across lots of people here and there, and what I noticed most was the good mood and friendliness- laughing; total strangers discussing where to get things; what they had, and so forth.
When I arrived here, I started connecting a grid of extension cords all over the house for various things that could be powered by my small generator. Like the old show Green Acres, I found that you had to do certain combinations to keep from killing the generator. I became quite skilled at this activity. Microwave is a huge draw, next is the fridge, then the window unit AC (surprisingly), and so on down the line. My mom asked me every few hours if the cable TV was back on, and did I think the paper would run today. I realized that the elderly depend heavily on daily ritual and predictability. Her memory became terrible, which I found out later is not surprising during major changes in their lives.
The humidity was oppressive- any activity outside resulted in soaked clothes. A shower did little to help since once you dried off you immediately begin to sweat again. Without a washing machine, I ran out of clothes rather quickly and learned about not having a fresh set of clothes each morning as we have all become so dependent on. I would pick the “cleanest pair” of clothes each morning.
But here is the most eye opening thing: I was exhausted due to constant chores- re-routing power to this and that; keeping the generator full; figuring out what we could eat; making sure my mom had a fan and so on. Then it occurred to me what the problem was: I was trying to maintain a “normal” way of life. A life in which people have lived in charmed decades where cheap, abundant electricity and gas is assumed. Every hour or two, my mom would say, “If the power would just! come! back! on!” with an exhausted voice. She, like others, is totally dependent on television, kitchen appliances, lights, air conditioning, and so on.
The biggest problem was boredom. We’ve become completely reliant on computers, TV, radio, video games, texting, blackberries, microwaves, electric stoves, and so on. I’m told Japanese teenage girls typically have two cell phones, which they use at the same time. Take all this away and we have nothing to do. You can only work so many jigsaw puzzles
.
I asked my mother, now 82 years old, what they did in her early years with no electricity. "Were you bored?"“Heck no!” she answered. Her father worked until sundown, put up the mules and horses, cleaned up, ate a big meal, read a little, and went to bed. Her mother was busy full time preparing foods, tending to the garden, canning vegetables and peaches, and doing all the laundry by hand. She too had little time for boredom. My mother went to school, then did many chores until dark, did homework by the light of a kerosene lamp and went to bed. She told me all these things with a smile, I could tell it was a good time for her, I guess when you went to bed your body let you know your accomplishments of the day. There was no obesity because of the amount of work and healthy meals. Her father ate huge, and I mean huge meals, and was thin and well toned. I realize this is all well known (and boring to most), but I guess it was special for me to hear it firsthand.
Consider the stark comparison to our life today- the suburbanites I know live in 4,000 sq foot houses with 6 bedrooms, the kids live in their rooms and play video games. The house is so big I suspect it is difficult to have a family unit. They are often overweight and have regular health issues, thanks to Papa John’s Pizza, and hot pockets. The parents work and commute long distances, work long hours, and have little time in the evening for relaxing.
I recently read a book about a graduate student that decided to live at a Mennonite community for a year, I believe as a school project. The one part of the book that stuck with me was regarding work vs. free time. The student worked in the fields each day with the other men, who worked slowly and stopped to weave stories and jokes rather often. They usually worked until sundown. The grad student would do calculations and such and night, and one day gathered the men together for a discussion. He laid out a plan that would easily allow them to finish work by noon. “Well, what are we going to do the rest of the day?” they replied. The student was stunned. It quickly became clear that the men do not differentiate between work and pleasure- they make their work their pleasure and thus see “getting off work” as an end to their social day. The men do not work their fields separately- they all work at Jon’s place and then go work at Fred’s, and so on. A great deal of people now see work as something they are forced to do so get off as soon as possible so they can go home and… watch American Idol and eat hot pockets.
I grew up in a family of six in a 1,000 square foot house. We got to know each other pretty well and learned patience and relationship skills.
I find it interesting that it takes a hurricane and a week or so with no power to generate all these thoughts.
I can only imagine the hardship endured by those affected by Katrina. My mother and I are in living in luxury right now in comparison.
“If the power would just come back on…”
Monday, April 19, 2010
Crazy Shit we did growing up
buck buck
In 5th grade, we occasionally played a game during lunch known as "buck buck". Here's the drill: We would all line up about 20 feet from a pine tree. the first person in line would go up and bend at the waist and hug the tree. The next kid in line would then run toward the tree as fast as possible and at the last second, jump up and land on the back of the tree hugger. He would then slide down and grab on to his waist bent over as well. Each person in line would then repeat this, but trying to jump as far up the line landing on the back of the pack toward the tree as possible. This continued until everyone had jumped. We'd then repeat this until our backs were killing us.
Another great game was "knuckles".
The rules were simple. Two kids would draw cards from a deck. The kid with the lowest card lost. The winner would then get the priviledge of rapping the edge of the deck against the knuckles of the loser. The number of raps was the card that the loser had, with face cards being 10. Now, to inflict maximum damage to the skin of the loser, you had to hold the deck just right. You hold the deck in your hand like you were shaking hands with somebody, with the card deck sticking out the front. the loser would make a fist with knuckles toward the winner. The winner would then swing the deck down with the edge of the deck just grazing the knuckles, with the hopes that it would remove skin. We would return to class with bleeding hands, but we'd cover them up so the teacher would not know what we had been doing.
Rough, Tough, and Tumble.
Now this was the funnest game ever.
It was roughly football, but with these rules.
1. Every man for himself.
2. The goal was to advance to the goal line, scoring a point.
3. Who ever was "it" would line up at the line of scrimmage and throw the ball back over his head toward the rest of the kids who were all gathered in the backfield, a few yards back. The kid that got the ball would then take off toward the goal line. Sounds simple until you realize that there were no rules about contact. The other dozen kids could kick, punch, grab, or any other method necessary to stop the person with the ball. You would go down with 12 people piled on you, all trying to get the ball. Who ever got the ball was then "it". Play repeats until somebody got a goal. We would return to class completely exhausted, beat up, dirty, and usually with some sort of clothing damage. and usually with a mild headache.
Please compare this to today's "sport" of soccer where kids run around in 100 dollar outfits never even breaking a sweat and never touching another human. With their parents on the sidelines all sitting in lawn chairs yelling at the kids, coaches, and referees about how their kid is not getting enough play time.
rolls in window
On the way back from the cafeteria, we passed the music building (remember that we ate at the college cafeteria). There was always this one window open up on the 2nd floor. So we started saving our rolls ("bricks" as we called them) so when passing the building, we would stop and hurl them at the window. we always got 2 or 3 in there. We figured it was some janitor's closet, and how we came upon that decision i have no idea. It was when i started collage there, majoring in music, that I finally found out what that room was. It was the office of our top music professor. he has perfect pitch and a degree from the Julliard school of music, quite possibly the most prestigious music school in the country.
food delight
We used to create culinary masterpieces in the lunchroom with our leftovers from lunch. Once I made this fantastic "Upside-down Pineapple Cake with Mashed Potatoes and Peas". A teacher wandered by and made me eat the whole thing. It was disgusting, but not as disgusting as the teacher. Bastard.
floating table suspended for 8 days but kept up on school work.
One day at lunch there were 8 of us sitting at our regular table when we just started lifting the table up with our knees. We quickly discovered that if we worked as a team we could get our trays to start sliding up and down the table like a wave. Well, wouldn't you know it, one of the teachers came along and ruined our fun. For some reason, they singled me out as the ringleader and suspended me for EIGHT DAYS. I've never heard of anybody being suspended for more than 3 days. But the funny part was that they let me take my school work home so i could keep up with the class. So I got an 8 day vacation.
peed out window
crowd the door
Gilligan's ISland
Me and the other boys once sat down and attempted to name every gilligan's island episode. we came up with 101. Wikipedia claims there were 98. so we did pretty good if you ask me.
miss kemp paddles
In 9th grade, me and Randall had this small roundish woman for algebra. She was really sweet and a good teacher. She also gave out "licks" with a paddle for poor behavior. She couldn't hit that hard so me and Randall began a contest on who could take the most licks. We would ask Mrs. Kemp for licks at the end of class, in front of the whole class. Randall finally won with 35 in a row.
safety glasses, 14 pair
One time our 8th grade teacher (Mrs. Hyde, the one that smoked her chaulk one time) came in class and Randall was wearing 14 pairs of safety glasses.
jumped the railroad tracks
saw holy grail 27 times
traded vodka for naked lady cards
When I was in about 5th grade or so, some kid brough a deck of "naked lady cards" to school. they were pretty tame, but boy did they get us going. I wanted some and the kid told me that if I brought some vodka , he would gtrade
painted on water tower
Me, my brother, and ricky lived across the street from a big huge water tower. Once our friend Gregg found a cassette tape where he said "I tried calling Ch-Charles, mom". I guess somebody in the room had this tape running while Gregg was talking to him mom. Anyway, one night me and Brian climbed the tower with a gallon of paint and painted on the side in 6 foot tall letters "I tried calling Ch-Charles, mom". Gregg thought this was pretty funny, but we did not get the reaction we had hoped for. It stayed on the tower for like, a year.
flush cans down drain
When in about 5th grade, we were outside next to the building and there were a couple of teachers nearby that were bored and thus watching our activities. they noticed that we were all hovered together looking intentely at something on the ground. then one of us would run inside, then reappear a moment later, scrambling to get back to the gang. curiosity got the best of these teachers so they came up to see what the heck was going on. We were gathered around a cleanout trap in the sewer line watching various objects fly by in the pipe as we took turns flushing them down the toilet. The teachers were faciniated and gave no beatings or anything.
Putty
We went to school in a pretty old building, and the windows were starting to fall out because all the putty had dried up that holds the glass in place. They hired a painting crew to come out and re-putty all the windows (probably a couple of hundred). Well, me and the gang thought this fresh putty was really cool to make things out of, so we went around the building peeling off huge pieces of putty off the windows. Mrs. Clark came along and made the bust. She marched us all to the principle's office, and we were all hiding our balls of putty behind our backs, thinking that he wouldn't see them or something. MRs. Clark said "put on the desk. Be careful what you ask for.... We plopped down a half a dozen basket ball sized balls of putty. It made a mound on the desk the size of a ottoman. We had to all chip in and pay for the repairs.
smoking in the attic
Like many boys, Randall and I started fooling around with cigs in about 6th (roughly). We would buy a pack of Marlboros (back then slore owners could care less who bought smokes), climb up in his attic and light up. We would smoke one after another until the entire pack was gone. Once we had this great idea of trying to smoke an entire pack all at once. We rubber-banded 20 cigs together in a bundle and fired it up. This thing was like torch, bellowing smoke out the tail end. We took a few hits and decided that this adventure was not nearly as fun as we had anticipated.
to do...
bikes into rack
ride the bushes
wrestling
In 5th grade, we occasionally played a game during lunch known as "buck buck". Here's the drill: We would all line up about 20 feet from a pine tree. the first person in line would go up and bend at the waist and hug the tree. The next kid in line would then run toward the tree as fast as possible and at the last second, jump up and land on the back of the tree hugger. He would then slide down and grab on to his waist bent over as well. Each person in line would then repeat this, but trying to jump as far up the line landing on the back of the pack toward the tree as possible. This continued until everyone had jumped. We'd then repeat this until our backs were killing us.
Another great game was "knuckles".
The rules were simple. Two kids would draw cards from a deck. The kid with the lowest card lost. The winner would then get the priviledge of rapping the edge of the deck against the knuckles of the loser. The number of raps was the card that the loser had, with face cards being 10. Now, to inflict maximum damage to the skin of the loser, you had to hold the deck just right. You hold the deck in your hand like you were shaking hands with somebody, with the card deck sticking out the front. the loser would make a fist with knuckles toward the winner. The winner would then swing the deck down with the edge of the deck just grazing the knuckles, with the hopes that it would remove skin. We would return to class with bleeding hands, but we'd cover them up so the teacher would not know what we had been doing.
Rough, Tough, and Tumble.
Now this was the funnest game ever.
It was roughly football, but with these rules.
1. Every man for himself.
2. The goal was to advance to the goal line, scoring a point.
3. Who ever was "it" would line up at the line of scrimmage and throw the ball back over his head toward the rest of the kids who were all gathered in the backfield, a few yards back. The kid that got the ball would then take off toward the goal line. Sounds simple until you realize that there were no rules about contact. The other dozen kids could kick, punch, grab, or any other method necessary to stop the person with the ball. You would go down with 12 people piled on you, all trying to get the ball. Who ever got the ball was then "it". Play repeats until somebody got a goal. We would return to class completely exhausted, beat up, dirty, and usually with some sort of clothing damage. and usually with a mild headache.
Please compare this to today's "sport" of soccer where kids run around in 100 dollar outfits never even breaking a sweat and never touching another human. With their parents on the sidelines all sitting in lawn chairs yelling at the kids, coaches, and referees about how their kid is not getting enough play time.
rolls in window
On the way back from the cafeteria, we passed the music building (remember that we ate at the college cafeteria). There was always this one window open up on the 2nd floor. So we started saving our rolls ("bricks" as we called them) so when passing the building, we would stop and hurl them at the window. we always got 2 or 3 in there. We figured it was some janitor's closet, and how we came upon that decision i have no idea. It was when i started collage there, majoring in music, that I finally found out what that room was. It was the office of our top music professor. he has perfect pitch and a degree from the Julliard school of music, quite possibly the most prestigious music school in the country.
food delight
We used to create culinary masterpieces in the lunchroom with our leftovers from lunch. Once I made this fantastic "Upside-down Pineapple Cake with Mashed Potatoes and Peas". A teacher wandered by and made me eat the whole thing. It was disgusting, but not as disgusting as the teacher. Bastard.
floating table suspended for 8 days but kept up on school work.
One day at lunch there were 8 of us sitting at our regular table when we just started lifting the table up with our knees. We quickly discovered that if we worked as a team we could get our trays to start sliding up and down the table like a wave. Well, wouldn't you know it, one of the teachers came along and ruined our fun. For some reason, they singled me out as the ringleader and suspended me for EIGHT DAYS. I've never heard of anybody being suspended for more than 3 days. But the funny part was that they let me take my school work home so i could keep up with the class. So I got an 8 day vacation.
peed out window
crowd the door
Gilligan's ISland
Me and the other boys once sat down and attempted to name every gilligan's island episode. we came up with 101. Wikipedia claims there were 98. so we did pretty good if you ask me.
miss kemp paddles
In 9th grade, me and Randall had this small roundish woman for algebra. She was really sweet and a good teacher. She also gave out "licks" with a paddle for poor behavior. She couldn't hit that hard so me and Randall began a contest on who could take the most licks. We would ask Mrs. Kemp for licks at the end of class, in front of the whole class. Randall finally won with 35 in a row.
safety glasses, 14 pair
One time our 8th grade teacher (Mrs. Hyde, the one that smoked her chaulk one time) came in class and Randall was wearing 14 pairs of safety glasses.
jumped the railroad tracks
saw holy grail 27 times
traded vodka for naked lady cards
When I was in about 5th grade or so, some kid brough a deck of "naked lady cards" to school. they were pretty tame, but boy did they get us going. I wanted some and the kid told me that if I brought some vodka , he would gtrade
painted on water tower
Me, my brother, and ricky lived across the street from a big huge water tower. Once our friend Gregg found a cassette tape where he said "I tried calling Ch-Charles, mom". I guess somebody in the room had this tape running while Gregg was talking to him mom. Anyway, one night me and Brian climbed the tower with a gallon of paint and painted on the side in 6 foot tall letters "I tried calling Ch-Charles, mom". Gregg thought this was pretty funny, but we did not get the reaction we had hoped for. It stayed on the tower for like, a year.
flush cans down drain
When in about 5th grade, we were outside next to the building and there were a couple of teachers nearby that were bored and thus watching our activities. they noticed that we were all hovered together looking intentely at something on the ground. then one of us would run inside, then reappear a moment later, scrambling to get back to the gang. curiosity got the best of these teachers so they came up to see what the heck was going on. We were gathered around a cleanout trap in the sewer line watching various objects fly by in the pipe as we took turns flushing them down the toilet. The teachers were faciniated and gave no beatings or anything.
Putty
We went to school in a pretty old building, and the windows were starting to fall out because all the putty had dried up that holds the glass in place. They hired a painting crew to come out and re-putty all the windows (probably a couple of hundred). Well, me and the gang thought this fresh putty was really cool to make things out of, so we went around the building peeling off huge pieces of putty off the windows. Mrs. Clark came along and made the bust. She marched us all to the principle's office, and we were all hiding our balls of putty behind our backs, thinking that he wouldn't see them or something. MRs. Clark said "put on the desk. Be careful what you ask for.... We plopped down a half a dozen basket ball sized balls of putty. It made a mound on the desk the size of a ottoman. We had to all chip in and pay for the repairs.
smoking in the attic
Like many boys, Randall and I started fooling around with cigs in about 6th (roughly). We would buy a pack of Marlboros (back then slore owners could care less who bought smokes), climb up in his attic and light up. We would smoke one after another until the entire pack was gone. Once we had this great idea of trying to smoke an entire pack all at once. We rubber-banded 20 cigs together in a bundle and fired it up. This thing was like torch, bellowing smoke out the tail end. We took a few hits and decided that this adventure was not nearly as fun as we had anticipated.
to do...
bikes into rack
ride the bushes
wrestling
Friday, March 26, 2010
My college roomate "Kubota"
I only stayed in the dorm one semester; my dad wanted me to have that experience. I went to college in the same town I grew up in, as a matter of fact, my parents house is about 4 blocks from the college.
So it is the beginning of the semester and I am just sitting around in the dorm room wasting time, when somebody knocks on the door. "Hi! I am Kubota", said a small Japanese man standing there with an armload of whatever. His actual name is "Yoshinori Kubota, but he said everyone just calls him Kubota because they can't say Yoshinori right. I called him Yoshi. This guy was so cool. When sleeping, he would lay on his back with his arms at his side, and never move during the night. He put his alarm clock right on the bed and never knocked it over. In stark contrast, I would wake up across the bed with the sheets all over the floor. it looked like wild banshees had slept in my bed after drinking coffee.
Kubota was a really jolly sort of fellow and always wanted to go out with me to the bars. He said he learned a lot of culture this way. Well, thanks to my drinking habit, he got a LOT of culture. I would teach him all the good cusswords and bar slang, and he said after a while that I was his "real" english teacher. Kubota was getting a degree in english education so he could go back to Japan and teach.
He never got the cussing quite right. He would say things like "I hate Millican, he is a shit fuck ass!!".
Yoshi taught me the real way to eat ramen noodles. We would get the square packs, not the ones in the bowl. He put the square of noodles in the bowl of hot water and eat it like a steak, not breaking it up.
One night after getting all cooked downtown, we got back to the room starving to death. Onward to the corner store for a frozen pizza. We walked to my parents house at 2:30 in the morning, fired up the oven, and commenced cooking. I guess we were not quiet enough because in walks my dad, with a puzzled look on his face. I guess he was not expecting to see a small Japanese man bent down sliding a pizza into his oven in the middle of the night. Anyway, my dad was cool and let us eat it right there at the table.
So it is the beginning of the semester and I am just sitting around in the dorm room wasting time, when somebody knocks on the door. "Hi! I am Kubota", said a small Japanese man standing there with an armload of whatever. His actual name is "Yoshinori Kubota, but he said everyone just calls him Kubota because they can't say Yoshinori right. I called him Yoshi. This guy was so cool. When sleeping, he would lay on his back with his arms at his side, and never move during the night. He put his alarm clock right on the bed and never knocked it over. In stark contrast, I would wake up across the bed with the sheets all over the floor. it looked like wild banshees had slept in my bed after drinking coffee.
Kubota was a really jolly sort of fellow and always wanted to go out with me to the bars. He said he learned a lot of culture this way. Well, thanks to my drinking habit, he got a LOT of culture. I would teach him all the good cusswords and bar slang, and he said after a while that I was his "real" english teacher. Kubota was getting a degree in english education so he could go back to Japan and teach.
He never got the cussing quite right. He would say things like "I hate Millican, he is a shit fuck ass!!".
Yoshi taught me the real way to eat ramen noodles. We would get the square packs, not the ones in the bowl. He put the square of noodles in the bowl of hot water and eat it like a steak, not breaking it up.
One night after getting all cooked downtown, we got back to the room starving to death. Onward to the corner store for a frozen pizza. We walked to my parents house at 2:30 in the morning, fired up the oven, and commenced cooking. I guess we were not quiet enough because in walks my dad, with a puzzled look on his face. I guess he was not expecting to see a small Japanese man bent down sliding a pizza into his oven in the middle of the night. Anyway, my dad was cool and let us eat it right there at the table.
Monday, March 22, 2010
"Why can't we be like the Waltons?"
My dad used to pull the Walton-guilt out all the time. We were totally dysfunctional, just like most families back in the 60s/70s. Me and my brothers fought constantly, my mom drank Gallo wine by the gallon to stay sane, and my dad watched sitcoms to escape reality.
The reason we could not be like the Waltons is because it is a stupid TV show.
That show was dripping with wholesomeness and although there were certainly families like that, i would say they constitute about .000001% of the population.
What about that wonderful Brady Bunch? Gosh darn, were they not as cute as shit?
My dad's favorite shows was All in the Family, and he looked a lot like Archie Bunker.
The reason we could not be like the Waltons is because it is a stupid TV show.
That show was dripping with wholesomeness and although there were certainly families like that, i would say they constitute about .000001% of the population.
What about that wonderful Brady Bunch? Gosh darn, were they not as cute as shit?
My dad's favorite shows was All in the Family, and he looked a lot like Archie Bunker.
Monday, February 1, 2010
My first 8 years of school
First Grade - mrs. shelton.
Being 6 at the time, I don't remember much about first grade, but i do remember getting whipped by her one time. She used a "bolo paddle", you know, the thing with the rubber ball and elastic band stapled to the paddle. Of course you had to spice up the story to your friends by saying that the "staple was still in it". Speaking of bolo paddles, once I bought one to take on a long distance gas balloon flight so me and Brian would have something to kill the boredom. My mom said "Give me that thing and I'll show you how it works". well, at 75 years old, I had my reservations about my mother's ability to control a ball flying around in the air, but in no time flat she had that ball rapping away against the paddle. She had this weird stance with her right hand doing the paddle work and her left hand firmly on her hip, kinda with her hip kicked out a bit. "you have to have your hips just right to make it work" she told me. My mom inched up a few notches on my "cool people" list after this demonstration.
Second Grade - Mrs. Gunn
She was a nice enough lady, but she had two rather annoying habits.
1. When it was your birthday, she would put on a really heavy coat of bright red lipstick and give you a huge kiss on your forehead. we all hated that.
2. If you misbehaved in class, watch out. she'd roll up one of your pants legs and go to work on your calf with a ruler. This hurts a LOT more than you think. give it a try.
Third Grade - mrs. i cant remember.
This was a rather unmemorable class except for the time that Douglas Kirk threw up in class. The whole class ran to the back of the room in horror. "You kids are horrible" she yelled. "You run away like wild cattle".
We used to throw sewing pins in the back of her dress when she was at the board.
Fourth grade - Mrs. starnes.
Mrs. starnes was nuts, and my so my dad sent me to another school for this year only.
One time i was talking during class and the teacher made me write 500 lines of "I will not talk in class". Another time I had to go up to the board and stick my nose in a circle she drew on the board. I had to stay there a long time.
Fifth grade - Mrs. Blount.
I had a crush on Mrs. Blount.
Sixth Grade - Mrs. Clark
Mrs. Clark was a great teacher, but had a rather substantial sweating problem.
Seventh Grade - Mr. "Asshole" Steward
I posted in another chapter ("Cruel People") about Mr. Stewart. A small gay man (of course we did not realize his sexual preference until a couple of decades later), that seemed friendly, but would whip the living shit out of us for minor infractions. Another rather annoying habit of his was to humiliate anybody that was caught reading a book during class instead of listening to the lecture. When he saw somebody engrossed in a book, he would stop talking and very quietly have everybody slowly gather around this person. Now, you might think that the victim would notice the lack of talking and movement around them, but trust me, when you are consumed in a book, you don't know the rest of the world exists. So anyway, everybody would stand around this person until they finally woke up and looked around. At this point everybody would laugh at them, led by Mr. Asshole.
Eighth Grade - Mrs. Hyde
Mrs. Hyde was a big ol' woman, but reasonably pleasant. She was probably 6'3". She was also an alcoholic and heavy smoker. Once while lecturing, she tried to take a drag off her chalk stick. This was totally cool to us. We talked about that for a week. She used to disappear several times during the day, for reasons not understood to us at that time, but later we realized that it was for smoking and sneaking a shot of Jim Beam. I think Eighth grade might have been the last year of the "Ditto Machine". Any of you over 45 will remember the sweet smell of the purple ink produced on the pages run through the copy machine of that era. That stuff smelled great, and I bet you dollars to donuts it gave us a great buzz that we did not even realize. It was in this grade that my best friend Randall and I achieved the record for wearing the most number of safety glasses at once; 14. You don't think much of that? Ok, butthead, you try to put on 14 pairs of glasses at once.
Being 6 at the time, I don't remember much about first grade, but i do remember getting whipped by her one time. She used a "bolo paddle", you know, the thing with the rubber ball and elastic band stapled to the paddle. Of course you had to spice up the story to your friends by saying that the "staple was still in it". Speaking of bolo paddles, once I bought one to take on a long distance gas balloon flight so me and Brian would have something to kill the boredom. My mom said "Give me that thing and I'll show you how it works". well, at 75 years old, I had my reservations about my mother's ability to control a ball flying around in the air, but in no time flat she had that ball rapping away against the paddle. She had this weird stance with her right hand doing the paddle work and her left hand firmly on her hip, kinda with her hip kicked out a bit. "you have to have your hips just right to make it work" she told me. My mom inched up a few notches on my "cool people" list after this demonstration.
Second Grade - Mrs. Gunn
She was a nice enough lady, but she had two rather annoying habits.
1. When it was your birthday, she would put on a really heavy coat of bright red lipstick and give you a huge kiss on your forehead. we all hated that.
2. If you misbehaved in class, watch out. she'd roll up one of your pants legs and go to work on your calf with a ruler. This hurts a LOT more than you think. give it a try.
Third Grade - mrs. i cant remember.
This was a rather unmemorable class except for the time that Douglas Kirk threw up in class. The whole class ran to the back of the room in horror. "You kids are horrible" she yelled. "You run away like wild cattle".
We used to throw sewing pins in the back of her dress when she was at the board.
Fourth grade - Mrs. starnes.
Mrs. starnes was nuts, and my so my dad sent me to another school for this year only.
One time i was talking during class and the teacher made me write 500 lines of "I will not talk in class". Another time I had to go up to the board and stick my nose in a circle she drew on the board. I had to stay there a long time.
Fifth grade - Mrs. Blount.
I had a crush on Mrs. Blount.
Sixth Grade - Mrs. Clark
Mrs. Clark was a great teacher, but had a rather substantial sweating problem.
Seventh Grade - Mr. "Asshole" Steward
I posted in another chapter ("Cruel People") about Mr. Stewart. A small gay man (of course we did not realize his sexual preference until a couple of decades later), that seemed friendly, but would whip the living shit out of us for minor infractions. Another rather annoying habit of his was to humiliate anybody that was caught reading a book during class instead of listening to the lecture. When he saw somebody engrossed in a book, he would stop talking and very quietly have everybody slowly gather around this person. Now, you might think that the victim would notice the lack of talking and movement around them, but trust me, when you are consumed in a book, you don't know the rest of the world exists. So anyway, everybody would stand around this person until they finally woke up and looked around. At this point everybody would laugh at them, led by Mr. Asshole.
Eighth Grade - Mrs. Hyde
Mrs. Hyde was a big ol' woman, but reasonably pleasant. She was probably 6'3". She was also an alcoholic and heavy smoker. Once while lecturing, she tried to take a drag off her chalk stick. This was totally cool to us. We talked about that for a week. She used to disappear several times during the day, for reasons not understood to us at that time, but later we realized that it was for smoking and sneaking a shot of Jim Beam. I think Eighth grade might have been the last year of the "Ditto Machine". Any of you over 45 will remember the sweet smell of the purple ink produced on the pages run through the copy machine of that era. That stuff smelled great, and I bet you dollars to donuts it gave us a great buzz that we did not even realize. It was in this grade that my best friend Randall and I achieved the record for wearing the most number of safety glasses at once; 14. You don't think much of that? Ok, butthead, you try to put on 14 pairs of glasses at once.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Cruel People
In 7th grade our teacher Mr. Steward, a short gay man, wielded a rather substantial board and would use it with great zest. After the first lick, you would gray out from the pain. The 2nd caused immediate crying and whimpering. The third did you in. It was a half an hour before you could get in good enough shape to return to class.
But this was not this man's most cruel act.
One day my friend Richard threw a paper ball at the trash can and missed. Mr. Stewart put the paper ball on the floor in the front of the room and made Richard get down on his knees and push it with his nose to the trash can. Richard was humiliated, begin sobbing and had to leave the room
Mr. Stewart, I sincerely hope you burn in hell. You bastard piece of worthless shit.
A long time ago I went with some friends to eat at this famous steak house west of Ft. Worth, "Cattle Barons". Boy did people get moist over that place, so we had to go. It was a big joint that smelled pretty good and looked fun. The four of us sat down and i noticed that there was a huge party of probably 100 people across the room at this infinitely long table. They had a few waiters and were just taking their order. A couple of minutes later our waiter took our order and we started our evening as usual. After about 30 minutes we asked the waiter where our food was, and he said he would check, blah blah. Forty five minutes now, still nothing. I noticed that steaks were being delivered to the small city of people on the other side of the room. 15 minutes later our steaks came. We ate and on the way out, I told the manager that I did not understand how we had to wait while they prepared a meal for 100 people. She said with this little smirk on her face "we serve people in the order that they are seated". The look on her face was like "we are famous and rich and i don't give rat shit about your little problem". I told her we would never be back and she just gave me this little smile and walked away. She was this short little old ugly lady with a crappy typical ft worth puffed up hairdoo.
I wish i could go back in time and take a piss on her, or better yet, burn that place down to the ground.
This one is really nauseating:
I was riding in a car with several people including Roxanne, a girl that was part of our team at a jobsite in Geneva. I was talking about the fact that as a programmer, my work was necessary, but not really important like a fireman or doctor. She looked at me said "oh phillip, you are just having a little mid-life crisis, try to relax". Amazing. i guess she holds no respect for firemen and doctors. What a witch she was.
But this was not this man's most cruel act.
One day my friend Richard threw a paper ball at the trash can and missed. Mr. Stewart put the paper ball on the floor in the front of the room and made Richard get down on his knees and push it with his nose to the trash can. Richard was humiliated, begin sobbing and had to leave the room
Mr. Stewart, I sincerely hope you burn in hell. You bastard piece of worthless shit.
A long time ago I went with some friends to eat at this famous steak house west of Ft. Worth, "Cattle Barons". Boy did people get moist over that place, so we had to go. It was a big joint that smelled pretty good and looked fun. The four of us sat down and i noticed that there was a huge party of probably 100 people across the room at this infinitely long table. They had a few waiters and were just taking their order. A couple of minutes later our waiter took our order and we started our evening as usual. After about 30 minutes we asked the waiter where our food was, and he said he would check, blah blah. Forty five minutes now, still nothing. I noticed that steaks were being delivered to the small city of people on the other side of the room. 15 minutes later our steaks came. We ate and on the way out, I told the manager that I did not understand how we had to wait while they prepared a meal for 100 people. She said with this little smirk on her face "we serve people in the order that they are seated". The look on her face was like "we are famous and rich and i don't give rat shit about your little problem". I told her we would never be back and she just gave me this little smile and walked away. She was this short little old ugly lady with a crappy typical ft worth puffed up hairdoo.
I wish i could go back in time and take a piss on her, or better yet, burn that place down to the ground.
This one is really nauseating:
I was riding in a car with several people including Roxanne, a girl that was part of our team at a jobsite in Geneva. I was talking about the fact that as a programmer, my work was necessary, but not really important like a fireman or doctor. She looked at me said "oh phillip, you are just having a little mid-life crisis, try to relax". Amazing. i guess she holds no respect for firemen and doctors. What a witch she was.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The brilliance of StarBucks
Here is a conversation between me and one those mindless slopeheads that work behind the counter at Starbucks.
(by the way, I tried to put a tab or spaces in front of the clerks responses to better separate and make this easier to read, but Google Blog does not recognize spaces in front of text. I guess the moron programmers at Google missed the memo)
Me - Hi, I’d like a small coffee
“Ok, one tall coming up”
No, I said a small
“A tall is a small.”
Then what is a medium?
“Grande”
Grande means “huge”.
“Well, it is a medium here.”
So, I fear to ask, what is a large?
“Venti”
Venti means “twenty. I don’t get it”
“Venti’s are 20 ounces.”
How many ounces are “grandes?”
"Sixteen"
So why don’t you call a medium a “sedici”?
What does sedici mean?
Sixteen
(Silence from the slopehead behind the counter)
Do you realize how idiotic this is?
"Um, I don’t know. Do you want a coffee?"
Yes, I’ll take a dodici
"What’s that?"
A small, I mean tall, which is one less than “Huge”, and two less than “twenty”
(by the way, I tried to put a tab or spaces in front of the clerks responses to better separate and make this easier to read, but Google Blog does not recognize spaces in front of text. I guess the moron programmers at Google missed the memo)
Me - Hi, I’d like a small coffee
“Ok, one tall coming up”
No, I said a small
“A tall is a small.”
Then what is a medium?
“Grande”
Grande means “huge”.
“Well, it is a medium here.”
So, I fear to ask, what is a large?
“Venti”
Venti means “twenty. I don’t get it”
“Venti’s are 20 ounces.”
How many ounces are “grandes?”
"Sixteen"
So why don’t you call a medium a “sedici”?
What does sedici mean?
Sixteen
(Silence from the slopehead behind the counter)
Do you realize how idiotic this is?
"Um, I don’t know. Do you want a coffee?"
Yes, I’ll take a dodici
"What’s that?"
A small, I mean tall, which is one less than “Huge”, and two less than “twenty”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
